


Fall Where They May

by AnnieGrimmons101



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Romance, Falling In Love, Hickeys, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nice Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming, Scars, Sex, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Spanking, Table Sex, Windowsill Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieGrimmons101/pseuds/AnnieGrimmons101
Summary: Merlin is living the life as the King's dirty little secret, but something's off. He isn't comfortable in his own skin anymore. Uther tries to keep the boy he loves, and Merlin tries to hold onto the King's trust, but they are doomed to spiral.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Milena

Chapter One: Tears

 

Pale moonlight peeked through the thick curtains of the King’s bedchamber; it was still late at night, but probably only a couple of hours until dawn. Merlin had been servicing the King since about an hour before midnight, and had graciously been allowed to stay the night in the King’s enormous bed. He knew he should have been asleep -- he had work in the morning -- but something kept him up. An itch. Despite being exhausted from their glorious night together, and being curled up in a bed so large that both he and the King could sprawl out and not even be touching, Merlin was restless.

“What is it?” asked the King’s low, gravelly voice. He slid along the width of the huge bed to sling an arm over Merlin’s waist.

“Nothing,” denied Merlin quietly. It wasn’t like he knew what was wrong, anyway. “Sorry I woke you, sire.”

The King hummed low and whispered, “Nonsense.” He pressed a kiss to the shell of Merlin’s ear. “It’s something. Tell me.”

Merlin wriggled out from under His Majesty’s heavy weight. “I need to use the privy,” he lied, and slipped out of bed. He hissed as his toes connected with cold wooden floors and his bare thighs were exposed to the nighttime chill, but he didn’t hesitate to escape to the separate bathroom. In an effort to steady himself, Merlin splashed water on his face and braced himself on the vanity, looking his pale reflection in the eye. The sound of fabric swished through the door, and the King’s larger frame appeared in the mirror behind him. A warm quilt was placed around Merlin’s shoulders; the King had turned out to be an uncomfortably affectionate lover.

“You should know I would feel no animosity towards you if you stopped answering the summons,” the King said matter-of-factly. He seemed to be keeping his space. “If you are dissatisfied--”

“It’s not that,” Merlin said, cutting him off. And that wasn’t a lie, either. The sex was mind-blowing, and it certainly felt nice to be wanted around. Merlin wasn’t sure why he couldn’t be happy in the King’s arms. “I just can’t sleep.” To prove that there truly was nothing wrong, Merlin turned and curled into the King’s broad chest. His Majesty tucked Merlin close, wrapping the quilt tightly around him. It was comforting, but both of them were wearing nothing but linen nightshirts, and a chilly draft was seeping in from the bathroom window.

The elder man felt Merlin’s shiver, and replied with one of his own. “You cold?” he asked needlessly. “Let’s go back to bed.” He led Merlin back into his royal bedroom and climbed into the ridiculously comfortable bed with him.

There was a long, long silence, but Merlin knew the King was still awake. The bed was too big for cuddling to be conceivable, and besides, Merlin slept in fetal position while the King slept spread eagle; both of them were laying rigid on their backs. Finally, after an amount of time which was too long and somehow not long enough, the King spoke up again, his voice soft and strangely vulnerable.

“It’s Arthur, isn’t it? I know how you care for him.”

“He doesn’t like me like that,” Merlin disagreed. The Prince spent every spare second of his day taunting Merlin about how ugly and undesirable he was, how unfit for marriage he would be. Certainly, Arthur held a special place in Merlin’s heart, but not one that would cause him to be ashamed by sleeping with Arthur’s father. Still, to appease the King, Merlin racked his brain for what the real problem might be. He turned on his side away from the King, and eventually settled on, “Just not used to it yet, I guess.”

His Majesty shuffled. “Used to what?”

“Any of it.”

 

Edsel and Wilhelm, the King’s two daytime servants, woke Merlin from an unpleasant dream about fire as they were readying the King for an early-morning meeting. Prince Arthur would also need attending to within the hour, so Merlin pulled himself out of the King’s big, fluffy bed and -- while carefully keeping his arse and manhood covered -- started to search around for the clothes he had so hastily discarded the night before.

“Not those,” decreed the King, waving in distaste at the rumpled trousers Merlin had only just recovered. “A loyal servant is rewarded.” Wilhelm opened the door of the King’s massive walk-in wardrobe, retrieving an outfit from within.

The ensemble was a milky cream color with lace and the occasional spritzing of gold embroidery. Merlin took one look at it and knew he could never accept something so expensive, but it didn’t once occur to him that Wilhelm and Edsel were dressed just as finely. He was manhandled into the trousers and matching high-collared shirt, but once dressed, all four of them simultaneously noticed a glaring problem.

With the utmost gentility, King Uther touched the long scar on Merlin’s throat. “Doesn’t quite cover that, does it?” Both of his manservants shook their heads to agree with their master even though he wasn’t looking at them. His Majesty vanished into his closet while his servants collected the laundry and began changing the soiled sheets. He soon returned with a familiar cerulean blue silk scarf. Merlin couldn’t convince himself he was worthy of wearing something so blatantly belonging to his King, but he still wound it around his neck so he wouldn’t seem ungrateful. The King tucked the blue silk into the collar of Merlin’s shirt until it pillowed out in a nobly pressed fashion.

Merlin sighed at himself in the full-length mirror, pulling at the expertly-woven fabric. “Sire, you know I can’t take this. Arthur--”

“--should have given you clothes of this caliber long ago,” Uther interrupted, smoothing down the sides of Merlin’s shirt. He seemed quite pleased with himself. “If for some reason he reacts poorly, he can take it up with me, can he not? Run along now, and wake Arthur for training.”

 

He supposed the worst part about his new clothes was that he had no excuse to hate them; they were softer than a cloud, not even the slightest bit itchy, and hugged the planes of his every curve in a way that he was sure the King had purposefully designed. Dealing with Arthur’s onslaught of menial tasks while dressed so finely would be the least of his problems.

Problem number one: getting Arthur to wake up. His Royal Pratness wouldn’t so much as open his eyes, much less sit up and eat breakfast. Merlin didn’t necessarily _want_ the Prince to see what he was wearing, but if Arthur didn’t ever wake up and skipped morning training, Merlin would bring the King’s wrath down on himself and lose everything he had built. It wasn’t just the sex anymore; the daily routine of gentility from someone Merlin so greatly feared was a reassurance he deeply treasured.

“Come on, Arthur, wake up,” he begged. “You don’t know how much is hinging on this.” _The King’s praise, half my income, my reputation, my self-esteem, the King’s trust_ \--

“...What?” the Prince groaned, confused at Merlin’s choice of words. He opened his eyes and then immediately shot up in bed, his face going from lost to furious all too quickly. “You’re wearing my father’s scarf, you little thief! And what’s with all the expens…” His eyes widened, and he threw off his covers.

Merlin chased after the shirtless Prince as he darted down the hallways, begging, “No, don’t, he’s in a meeting!” right before Arthur burst into the council chambers. A whole slew of important people turned to look disappointedly at the spectacle they had caused.

“Father!” roared Arthur, “what _the hell_ is _this_?” He jerked an arm back to grab Merlin’s wrist and drag him into view.

The King stood up calmly from his seat at the head of the meeting table. “Merlin,” he called, ignoring his son’s outburst. “Come here.” Arthur held fast to Merlin’s arm for a few tense seconds, but allowed his servant to extricate himself and slink over to the King’s side. A pillow already sat on the floor next to the King’s chair, and the King carefully pressed Merlin down by the shoulder to rest upon it.

“You can have him back when you learn some manners,” His Majesty snapped, cutting off a string of expletives that spewed from his son’s lips. “Namely how a prince ought not _strut about_ in his sleeping trousers during daylight hours. You are dismissed from my presence until you can carry yourself with some level of dignity.”

Arthur scowled and stormed off, slamming the door on his way out. The King sighed a fatherly sigh and returned to his seat, grunting like a man much older than he was. Merlin wondered if his knee was bothering him. Being of a height with said knee, Merlin began to timidly caress the joint in hopes of alleviating the pain. He was given a small pat on the head.

 

Hours of talk went by, during which Merlin got drowsy. He liked the comforting drone of the King’s voice, and somehow managed to get comfortable enough against the King’s leg to nod off. Every now and then a chair would shift or a voice would raise, rousing Merlin from his dreams, but he only opened his eyes once the King’s fingers began to card through his hair affectionately. Uther was a surprisingly touch-oriented man, always needing to keep contact with Merlin in some way.

“...this meeting is adjourned,” he was saying. Chairs scraped and men said polite goodbyes to one another as they left. Soon enough, though, all was quiet again. “You awake down there?” teased the King, petting Merlin’s hair in a touchingly gentle manner.

Merlin smacked his lips and shifted. “Yeah.”

They both sighed at the same time, though for different reasons. The King sounded stressed. “Come up here,” he ordered, slapping his thighs. He wanted Merlin to sit on his lap, which was something they didn’t do outside His Majesty’s chambers. Still, the council chambers _were_ empty, Merlin figured, as he stood up to obey.

As soon as his arse touched the King’s legs, gloved fingers began to work at the laces on his new trousers, unwinding them at lightning speeds. “I know it’s not our usual routine,” the elder man acknowledged, “but it’s so rare to catch you during the day…” He finally got Merlin’s trousers loose from the triple knot Merlin had tied. “Up, over the table,” he insisted, lust and desperation audible in his tone. Merlin obeyed, letting his silky new trousers sink to the floor around his ankles. “Shirt off too,” the King breathed. “We don’t want it ruined in one day, do we?”

The scarf was so delightfully smooth that it slid right off with the shirt, leaving Merlin completely exposed and at his King’s mercy. He shivered in anticipation. The King gave one heavy breath, then another, and a gloved hand hit Merlin’s arse with a solid slap. It barely hurt, but it startled Merlin enough to make him jolt and hump against the edge of the table.

His Majesty then sucked a dark hickey into Merlin’s cheek where he struck, seeming to savor the taste of him, and once he was satisfied that he had left his mark, he began to pepper kisses up and down Merlin’s thighs. Uther seemed intent on not allowing a single bit of skin to go untouched. He massaged Merlin, spreading him with his thumbs.

“Oh! _Ohhh…_ ”

Uther had only treated his lover to this once before, and Merlin hadn’t known how to respond then, either. For his King to prepare him like this, with his own mouth, felt so far below what any king should be doing, and too intimate for him to do for a common serving boy. And yet, to complain would be absolute blasphemy, as Merlin was nigh on the brink of spending. He still didn’t dare hump backwards for more; he wanted his King to be pleased with him, to take him apart at his own benevolent pace.

He pulled back a few moments later, and suddenly the air smelled of lemon balm. That was the scent they had eventually agreed on for their oil to be, as Merlin couldn’t stand the suffocatingly rich smell of the vanilla oil Uther had always used before, and His Majestic Kingliness absolutely refused to use something as common as cooking oil. Lemon balm had been their compromise.

“You keep oil on you?” huffed Merlin, barely having the breath to ask.

The King gave an amused noise laced with lust. “My beautiful, delicate boy, you have no idea how often I think of you each day… how often I take myself in hand at the thought of you. I now find myself intoxicated by the scent of lemon balm, as though it were some ambrosia from the gods.” His gloves now gone, Uther traced two sweet-smelling fingers in circles around Merlin’s hole, teasing him.

It felt good, but Merlin knew he couldn’t cum without the King inside him. “F-fuck me,” he whimpered, needing that heated touch inside him.

“As you wish,” King Uther replied, a smirk in his tone. He slid a finger inside. He worked in a second, then a third, then curled them to the place that made Merlin cry out in delight. “Listen to you,” he crooned, “such a little harlot. These noises you make for me…” His fingers slipped away all too soon, and Merlin whined, but he knew something far better was to come. With a few seconds’ patience, there was a nudge at his entrance, and his King’s magnificent cock was once again claiming him. Inch by inch, Merlin was slowly filled, and both of them gave low moans as Uther bottomed out.

The King usually had dirty things to whisper, but this time he was too desperate, too stressed; the only sound in Merlin’s ears was the slapping of flesh and his own pleased whining. It was too quick before the King climaxed, not bothering to hit Merlin’s spot nor stroke him in any fashion. Most likely, he was trying not to make a mess of the room.

“Thank you,” he breathed, kissing the faint scar on Merlin’s spine. “I promise you tonight will be to die for.”

One of the guards called from outside the room to announce the second arrival of Prince Arthur -- they had heard the original fight and assumed they shouldn't let him in without asking. Merlin groaned disappointedly as the King pulled out and cleaned them up.

“Get dressed and be off. Quickly now, boy, before he sees what a mess you've made of yourself. Look after his chores for the time being, but don't yet lose sight of the evening to come.”

 

It turned out that chores went unbelievably fast when Arthur was too busy getting chewed out to pile more onto the list. There was maybe two hours’ worth of work, and half of that time was just deliveries of dishes and laundry and fresh bedding and the like. Eventually, the only thing left to do was a fair bit of polishing. If Arthur ever actually went down to training then Merlin would have a suit of armor to polish as well, but for the time being it was just three pairs of boots.

Merlin sat on a random bench in a hallway not far from to Arthur’s room to shine his shoes, more to avoid Arthur than anything else. When he could see his face in the leather, Merlin tucked the boots under his arm to return them to the Prince’s chambers. He opened the door, not thinking about it much, to find that Arthur had returned. Locked in Arthur’s piercing gaze, Merlin slowly and carefully set the boots on the floor and began to back out of the room.

“Coward,” he spat, and Merlin outright bolted.

He ran, not really sure where he was headed, ducking through narrow servant hallways that were just wide enough for a laundry basket, sprinting down wide halls decorated with paintings and tapestries, and crawling through the smallest of secret passages until his brand new clothes were coated in all manner of dirt and cobwebs. He popped out about five meters away from the door to the King’s chambers. Merlin hadn't planned on ending up here, but his legs carried him to the door, and the guards let him in without a second look, and the King's bed looked so warm and welcoming…

Off came the old boots and the new clothes and the King’s blue scarf, all of which received the same treatment of being dropped on the floor. Merlin climbed fully nude into the King’s bed, wanting nothing more than a bit of comfort and a wink of sleep.

 

“Do you think these can be saved?”

“... They don't seem to be stained, sire. A roller will probably get most of it, and the rest will most likely wash off. I'll see to it that a senior laundress handles them?”

“Yes, do, at once.”

A weight dipped the bed to Merlin's right, which was wrong, because the King slept on the left. He hummed his confusion, and felt a hand that was decidedly not the King’s shake his shoulder. Merlin's eyes shot open. Wilhelm had sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, and his face was kind as usual, but he seemed concerned. “The King wants to speak with you. He isn't in the best of moods.” Edsel was nearby, holding out Merlin's usual blue shirt and brown trousers.

A very different weight settled in Merlin's stomach.

 

King Uther was in his study, gloved hands propped on the windowsill as he looked over the rose garden several floors below. They made love on that sill once. Merlin felt hot and itchy in all the wrong ways, a lump forming in his throat. He might not have been used to this yet, but he wanted to be; he had the path to the King's chambers memorized, he knew the names of the eight different men who took shifts guarding the King's doors, he knew the King’s daily routine by heart, he could fill up a page with all the places and positions in which his King had claimed him. He wasn't used to it yet, but he was in too deep to let go.

Lemon balm would never be the same.

“I've gone and buggered it all up, haven't I?” Merlin hadn't intended for that question to sound quite so pitiful. He hugged himself and studied the grain of the wood on the floor; he couldn't bear to see the King’s face.

“Come here.”

Merlin crept closer to the man he had grown dangerously accustomed to, not daring to bring his eyes up past where the King’s hands rested on the sill. Those strong, kingly hands had done sinful things to every part of Merlin’s body. He would do more than miss them; he would _yearn_ for them. Tears threatened to tumble down his cheeks, but Merlin would not let them fall. Merlin would handle his dismissal like an adult, and cry alone in his bed later. What Merlin failed to realize was that he was only barely an adult, and that tears would fall where they may. Boys would likewise fall when struck with Cupid’s Bow, and though he wouldn’t realize it until that night, curled up alone in Gaius’s spare bedroom, Merlin had indeed been struck with the arrow of Love.

“I am not good company tonight. Go home to Gaius and rest well. When I have time, I will send for you.” The King’s voice was cold and hard, emotionless and schooled, kingly and inhuman. Tears sprang to his eyes at the tone of the King’s words, and he fled from the King’s chambers faster than he had from the Prince’s.

 


	2. Arrows

An unhealthy fear of the Royal Family had been festering in Merlin’s heart. Though Gaius practically begged him to go to work, Merlin was petrified of Arthur, and even more petrified of accidentally seeing the King. For days, the only time he would leave his bedroom was at dawn, when he would creep out into the dense forest and look for herbs. Gaius’s stores were chock-full of everything he could need because of Merlin’s obsession with feeling somewhat useful. 

Though he missed the pleasure the King always granted him, to take himself in hand at the memory of it felt filthy and wrong. Merlin instead took out his frustration on innocent rocks he found in the woods, splintering them with his magic and rebuilding them over and over again until he was so worn out he could hardly stand. When he bored of destruction, he would run and run and run through the forest until his lungs and legs gave out, then drag himself home to Gaius with herbs under his arm. 

As time went by, the air grew colder, and the castle’s firewood stores were being spread thin, meaning Merlin had to stay out longer to gather as many logs as he could carry as well as the usual supplies of herbs. He would bring the logs back home to Gaius’s office and split them out on the courtyard steps with what little energy he could muster. All Arthur’s teasing about Merlin being a weak girl was dangerously close to being accurate now; he could barely lift the hatchet. Gaius usually handled all these manual chores. Thinking about Gaius doing this kind of work at his age put a fire in Merlin’s belly, and he started to chop the wood with renewed vigor. 

He wouldn’t dare be useless. 

Sometimes, when he was in the courtyard, even before the crack of dawn, he felt that he was being watched. He never, ever,  _ ever  _ looked up to the King’s balcony. He couldn’t handle the sight of it; they’d had sex there too. Merlin felt himself wearing thin, and could feel Gaius growing impatient with him. Technically, he hadn’t been dismissed from his job as Arthur’s servant, so no other folks around town would take him as an apprentice. 

Arthur tried to visit once, after which Merlin was almost never at home. Folks could find Merlin pacing the streets, especially on the east side of town, where there were fewer businesses and more residences; most of the daily hustle and bustle was contained to the shops. Some of the people he used to talk to when he went to the market stopped him and asked him how he was doing. Never once did Merlin answer truthfully. 

After a month, Merlin risked looking up at that balcony. He saw the glint of gold, but forced himself to keep looking; he had been a coward for too long. From that distance, the King’s expression was obscured, but Merlin knew from his posture that the man was stressed. There was a time when he would feel a sense of duty to relieve that stress, but now he was much too afraid. Though, after a month of hiding, Merlin failed to remember just  _ why  _ he feared the King so much. 

 

“Is His Majesty’s draft ready?” 

Wilhelm had arrived in Gaius’s chambers. Merlin was only home to deliver herbs and firewood, and certainly hadn’t planned on seeing anyone but Gaius. He froze by the fireplace, caught like a bunny who had smelled a hound. 

Gaius pretended not to notice. “It’ll just be a couple more minutes. Sit down, rest your feet.” The two men knew each other well, as Wilhelm had been Uther’s servant for many, many years now. 

“Thank you,” said Wilhelm politely, and sat down near Merlin by the fire. Gaius busied himself with his potion-making, tuning out the conversation he knew was to come. Merlin couldn’t look Wilhelm in the eye, not after all the nights the older man had changed the sheets soiled by Merlin himself. No servant should change sheets for another servant, at least not in Merlin’s mind. The far more experienced and respectable assistant to the King gave Merlin a solemn smile. “He’s not cross with you, you know.”

Merlin gave something similar to a half smile. He wanted to pretend like being sent away hadn’t affected him. He wanted to pretend that it was totally Arthur’s fault that he had been an absolute tramp for a month straight. “I lied to him, you know,” he confessed. “I told him I wasn’t used to it, but…” 

Wilhelm sighed at him. 

“I just want everything to go back to the way it was,” Merlin lamented quietly, peering into the fire. He couldn’t meet the elder man’s eyes.

“He hasn’t exactly told me this, but he can’t hide it from me or Edsel. We know him too well. He misses you. But he won’t dare summon you again, that much he has told us.”

Both of them were quiet for a while. Merlin felt like a mouse sending word to a cat. “Tell him… tell him I miss him too.” And he definitely did, no lie about it.

 

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” 

The summons had come only a day after Wilhelm’s visit. Merlin wasn't sure why he answered it, nor did he know why his knees were knocking together. Uther was the man he missed so badly he cried about him at night, and now all Merlin wanted to do was turn tail and run. His magic squirmed unpleasantly in his stomach, feeling like a thousand perpetually-mating tapeworms. 

Worst of all, the King was more tense than Merlin had ever seen him. The lines on his face were deep, and his eyes were dull. His face was blank and impassive. It hurt Merlin to see him looking so aged. 

“I'm surprised you came.”

Deep down, Merlin was surprised too. On the surface, he was offended. “I always come when you call,” he reminded the King, acting more hurt than he really was. He focused on showing the anger he didn’t really feel to distract himself from the crushing sadness closing in.

The King shook his head as if to clear it. “I just assumed after all this time… why would you return to me?” 

“You didn't ask,” Merlin pointed out. He knew he was dodging the question, but he didn't know the real answer. “You said you'd send for me when you had time. I just assumed you were busy.” 

That was an absolute lie; he knew Uther hadn't been busy in those wee hours of the morning when he felt eyes on him from the balcony. He could have gone to him then, seduced him, gotten what he needed and given in return. Things would have been set right.

“Busy,” the King harrumphed. “That's one word for it. I haven't slept so little in years.” 

_ Because you've been watching me _ , Merlin wanted to snap, but he held himself back. That was no way to reconcile. “Well, um, you know, if you ever do have time… I'm around. You do know where I live.”

“Right.”

All was silent between them for a while. Merlin slowly started to creep away. “I should go home, before Gaius worries about me,” he said, but the excuse wasn't needed, not really. The King just waved a hand to dismiss Merlin from his chambers. 

That went fucking brilliantly.

 

Within the next few days, Merlin realized just how foolish he was not to make it clear to the King how badly he wanted him back. Although, since they had somewhat agreed that they didn’t hate each other, Merlin mustered the courage to go back to work as Arthur’s manservant. He promised himself if it went poorly he would quit and find some other job.

It went poorly and he failed to quit. 

Gaius offered words of encouragement that evening, which weren’t very encouraging, but Merlin appreciated the sentiment in them. He finished what was left of his supper and stood up from the table. As was routine, Gaius began to clear their plates. 

“I’ll handle these dishes,” Merlin insisted. 

“No, you won’t,” Gaius declared. “I’m more than capable of doing some simple housework. You focus on keeping your job.” The older man nodded to the massive pile of Arthur’s armor sitting in the corner of the room. Merlin already felt sore just from looking at it. Still, he needed the job. And, more than that, Arthur was his destiny and he couldn’t afford to be parted from him. He gathered his polishing things and picked up the first piece of armor with a sigh. So it began again. 

 

Edsel was younger than Wilhelm by several years, but wasn’t quite as profound as his older friend tried to be. This was probably why he was the one to deliver the summons. He handed the paper casually, more concerned with Merlin’s answer than with the emotional response the summons elicited. It was late, and while Gaius and Merlin weren’t asleep -- a physician’s work is never done -- most people would have been. 

“Um… okay,” agreed Merlin, his fingers twirling nervously around the red wax seal. He followed Edsel out and away, into the darkened halls of the castle. They did not speak to one another, the silence swallowing them up and filling Merlin’s stomach with something heavy. His heart fluttered erratically the closer they got to the King’s quarters, but they turned away from them. 

By the time Merlin noticed where they were going, they were practically already there. The balcony. A spark of arousal shot down his spine at the memories this location invoked, and he shivered hard. Edsel left him in the doorway without a word. 

The King’s brow was crownless, his figure shrouded by a heavy cloak. Merlin knew his posture, though, and was determined to relieve the grief he saw. 

“You came.”

Merlin tried to smile, but he was just too nervous. Cold wind blew over the uncovered balcony, whipping his shirt up and biting into his skin. “I always come when you call, sire.” He did not receive any answer for a long moment, which only helped to amplify his nerves.

“That night… Arthur and I had an…  _ altercation  _ in the council chambers after you left. I didn’t want to involve you in it… I thought it best just to let you go.” The King turned around, an unfamiliar twinge of guilt on his handsome face. “Now I realize after all this time apart that I was merely being a coward. I couldn’t face you after the things he said. I must ask that you view my weakness with indulgence.” 

It appeared to physically pain Uther to admit any of this to him. He was no relationship counselor, but he believed a hug was in order, and by fuck, did he need one. They held each other for what felt like years, warm together as chilly night air whipped around them. 

Merlin would rather not know the things Arthur said, but he did not want the King to have to shoulder them alone. “Will you tell me what he said?”

He could tell Uther wanted to say no. He could feel how close Uther was to doing it, too. Instead, the King relayed Arthur’s words. “He… accused me of assaulting you. Said you wouldn’t be doing any of it if I weren’t paying you. And as much as I knew I could never… I began to wonder if maybe I was. If you wouldn’t rather stay home. If that is how you truly feel, then… then I am  _ ordering  _ you to throw me off and leave. Leave and never return to me, no matter how much I beg.”

Merlin shook his head frantically, gripped the King’s strong shoulders tighter. “ _ No _ . No, you can’t listen to him... I  _ love  _ you.” 

“Then you are a fool,” said Uther, pulling away. He shook his grey head sadly.

“Well, yeah,” Merlin retorted, “I thought we’d established that.” 

The King found it in himself to smile, and threw himself at Merlin, attacking his lips in a desperate kiss. Merlin groaned into it, nearly sobbing - how long he had yearned for this moment! He held his King as tight as he could, vowing never to let him go again. 

 

 


End file.
